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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731617">The Voxman Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperbird/pseuds/whisperbird'>whisperbird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:14:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperbird/pseuds/whisperbird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets, drabbles &amp; unfinished fics. (Mostly) Voxman.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lord Boxman/Professor Venomous (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ethics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is just my immense collection of random finished and unfinished OK KO fics. None have been betaed because I am just the worst.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn't, ethically speaking, the best of ideas.</p><p>In Laserblast’s opinion, good ideas didn't have to be ethical to be good ideas. The concept of “good” was debatable, anyway. Ask a hero to define “good.” Most heroes (the ones smart enough to really consider it beyond “not evil”) would say something that provides the best outcome to the most people. Justice, fairness, equality, safety, whatever. </p><p>Most people would say that, if only because it sounded like a virtuous answer. </p><p>That offended Laserblast. Really and truly ground his gears. Not the implication of the ends justifying the means, “The Prince” bullshit. No, that for something to be considered <em> morally sound, </em> it had to be advantageous for <em> everyone.</em> </p><p>In his darker moments, he considered how he spent more time than not with only himself to trust. <em> We're a universe inside ourselves, </em>he'd think, not un-drunkenly. When you’re born, you know nothing, and the only person who comes with you into death is yourself. Between these bookends, whole swathes of time existed purely in the company of your mind. If your own mind is the company that society has forced you to keep, how the hell can you be called selfish for only caring about who cares for you most? </p><p>And so, Laserblast decided, <em> ethically, </em>if hiding a grand, dangerous experiment for power was bad, then it'd have to be bad for a while. In the end, it would benefit his teammates and himself. Who cares if they didn't know about it right now?</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Night Flights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An unfinished fic about cocktails.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I, personally, am not the biggest mixed drink fan.” Venomous placed a slim, chilled cocktail glass on the countertop. “I’m pretty simple about my drinks. A nice merlot or craft beer is usually fine by me.”</p><p>Boxman watched him fetch several bottles from the bar cart beside him and waited for the “but.”</p><p>“But,” said Venomous, “impressing clients -- at least when I was trying to get my foot in the door of the villain world-- was all about <em> spectacle.</em> I can only make a handful of cocktails, mind you, but I can make one in particular really well.”</p><p>“I can make a mean daiquiri in a blender,” said Boxman, with a wry smile.</p><p>“I would actually prefer that. But, you know, I have to say things like ….” Venomous cleared his throat and put on his sharp, business demeanor, a voice that straddled the line between pretentious and oily. “This is my own take on the classic Aviation.”</p><p>“Now, given the Aviation is stirred, not shaken,” he added, in his normal, steady voice, “a good part of the spectacle, y’know, shaking the cocktail is forfeit …”</p><p>Boxman put a hand on his face in mock distress. “Oh, whatever are we to do?” </p><p>“Whatever indeed,” replied Venomous. He raised his eyebrows and pulled a large glass container from the lower cart shelf.</p><p>“What?” Boxman squinted. “A beaker?”</p><p>“Don't worry,” said Venomous. “It's a bar-only beaker. But yes, mixology is a science and this makes up for flair in spades.”   He paused. “Anyway, where was I?”</p><p>Boxman tried to hide his smile. “You would be telling a client about your take on an Aviation.”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Venomous replied, measuring gin with the practiced hand of man who frequently worked with volatile chemicals. “It's a sort of combination of that and a Vesper, you know, the James Bond drink. But what I would fail to mention is that I had this drink years ago in a Neo Riot City bar, so it isn’t my own creation.”</p><p>“Ooh,” said Boxman, “it's your signature drink because it’s purple.” And it <em> was </em> purple. </p><p>“Creme yvette.” Venomous studied the bottle he'd just poured. “It's a violet liqueur with raspberries and other assorted, tasty things. An Aviation is usually made with crème de violette, but I find the flavor of this is more complex and it's more ... forgiving than the straight violet. Too much of that and it tastes like drinking flowers. But a violet liqueur is absolutely key, because look at that color.” </p><p>Venomous finished mixing the beaker concoction and strained it into the chilled glass. The drink glinted deliciously and menacingly as he slid it to Boxman. </p><p>Boxman tilted his glass in a toast but before he could imbibe, Venomous turned and began searching in the cabinet behind the counter.</p><p>“No, you go ahead and try it,” he said over his shoulder. “I just forgot to mention the garnish.” Bottles tinkled as Venomous searched on a shelf. Boxman leaned forward, watching Venomous.</p><p>“<em>Mention </em> the garnish?”</p><p>“Mention-only, I'm afraid,” Venomous replied. “Because the real signature twist was garnishing each drink with a Glorb. Oh, here we go.”</p><p>He set a jar of black maraschino cherries on the counter and chuckled at Boxman’s expression. </p><p>“Extravagant, right? But since you're not a valued client with discerning taste I have to lie to impress, we can just settle for traditional.”</p><p>Taking advantage of Boxman's forward posture, Venomous placed the cherry he’d just impaled on a pick right into Boxman's slightly opened mouth.</p><p>The feeling of Venomous’ fingertips (cold but so soft) lingered on Boxman's lips just a second too long. And there was the blush Boxman was holding back. He covered up his fluster by taking in most of the cocktail in a single sip.</p><p>Venomous frowned. “Did you just swallow the cherry whole?”</p><p>Boxman blushed again and coughed. “I was just surprised that you've eaten a Glorb.” Of course that was a lie, but there was nowhere near enough alcohol present right now to address the tension, thick and obvious, suspended in the air like oil in water. Better to just swallow the cherry.</p><hr/><p>Boxman was in the beginning stages of dealing with several things. First, that the crush he had on Venomous wasn't just because the man was a very attractive, intelligent scientist everyone was a little in love with. Boxman would admit he had a type and that he was a sucker for a pretty face and an evil mind. But it was different this time. This time it was a <em> foolish</em>, helpless crush that made him feel like a lovesick schoolboy. It was relentless.</p><p>Secondly, Boxman was dealing with the realization that Venomous had a <em> side </em> to him, an unguarded, playful version of Venomous that was, as far as he could tell, for his eyes only.  </p><p>It was a titillating prospect and, as much as he longed to not read into it, he couldn't help himself. Something had changed.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact! The drink Venomous makes is an actual drink made in a Washington DC bar. And DC is where Neo Riot City is. Full circle, baby.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Questionable Parenting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Based on an OTP generator prompt, an AU timeline of Boxman and PV meeting simply as single dads.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Boss!" </p><p>Well, there went the peace. It was a beautiful, warm spring afternoon and Venomous was able to enjoy it quietly for all of five minutes.</p><p>He groaned and looked up from his newspaper to see Fink stalking across the playground. She was covered in dirt, which wasn't new but the look of fury on her face meant someone was going to get hurt if Venomous didn't take control of the situation. </p><p>He knew she could take care of business herself (and enjoyed taking care of business herself) but he didn't need another lecture from other villain parents about what a little beastie his minion was. He knew Fink was feral. It was fine. Minions were supposed to be feral.</p><p>Taking a moment to mourn his lost peace, he allowed himself to be dragged away from the bench by a tiny, livid rat hand.</p><p>When they reached the cause of Fink's upset, the surprise must've shown on his face. A trio of little baby robots in the sandbox all jumped to their feet, primed to fight, mini weapons drawn. Mini sharp weapons.</p><p>Those looked real. Hmm.</p><p>"Boss!" said Fink, letting go of his hand and pointing a scuffed mitten. "They're not playing right and that one --" she singled out a red robot with one eye, "bit me."</p><p>Venomous attempted to stifle his laughter, turning it into a rather suspect cough. "Those weapons look pretty fearsome," he said to the children. "Why bother biting?"</p><p>"She wouldn't let go of Darrell's shovel," said a little girl robot. She had enough attitude to rival Fink. "He only did that so she'd let go."</p><p>"Fink," said Venomous, trying to sound stern, but trying so desperately not to laugh. "Why did you take his shovel?"</p><p>Fink looked furious. "Because I wanted it!"</p><p>"That's certainly a reason," said Venomous. He glanced up at a drowsy white cloud casting shadows on the ground, begging himself for serenity to avoid laughing at Fink’s angry face. He bit his lip, composed himself and looked back. </p><p>"Where are your parents?" he asked.</p><p>The only one of the three who didn't shrug was the green robot who had been quiet, but watching Venomous with the most sharp judgment and disdain he'd ever seen come from someone so small. That one sneered and said, "Father let us come by ourselves."</p><p>Somehow Venomous realized that wasn't true, but before he could push the point, almost on the cue, a young cyborg man walked up the opposite side of the hill. </p><p>"I turn my back," the man said, still hunched over, "for one second and where do you end up?"</p><p>Venomous looked back at the robots, who had utterly abandoned all pretense of bravado. That was quick. They were all huddled together, hugging each other, and shaking. </p><p>"Uh, we were going to come right back, Daddy..." said the girl. </p><p>Fink, who loved seeing people get in trouble almost as much as she enjoyed watching heroes get beaten, said, "They're biting people here too." </p><p>The man looked up, casting Fink a dismissive glare. He didn't seem to notice Venomous, or if he did, his fury at the robots was blinding.</p><p>"I hope you had fun," hissed the man, standing up and clenching his fists. "Because I'm going to melt all of you in the incinerator as soon as we get home." </p><p>Okay, this wouldn't do. Venomous cleared his throat. The man threw a glare at Venomous, similar to the one he had thrown at Fink, but stopped, doing a double take. The change in expression was comical, but Venomous couldn’t tell precisely what the second expression had morphed into.</p><p>"Uh, hi," he said.</p><p>"Look," said Venomous, holding up his hands. "I know that they probably worried you running away, but they just seemed to be having fun. I don't think I'd even know they were there if my minion here hadn't started it."</p><p>Ignoring Fink's indignant squeak, he shook his head. "Minions will be minions."</p><p>The cyborg man hesitated, as though weighing his words. "I didn't make them for having fun," he said, speaking to Venomous, but frowning at the trembling robots. "I made them to work, and if they're not going to work, they're not worth anything to me." </p><p>The trio burst into tears, even the one that Venomous had referred to mentally as the disdainful little shit. Little shits or no, Venomous had already had enough. </p><p>"Hey," he menaced, finding his real villain voice. None of that diplomatic Laserblast crap. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"</p><p>The man looked startled. "I..."</p><p>"I mean, I'm a villain, but you let these robots call you dad, but treat them like slaves?" Venomous took a threatening step forward and could almost feel Fink vibrating from the anticipatory drama. She loved Venomous being an asshole to other people even more than watching someone get in trouble. Even the baby robots had stopped crying and watched the scene unfold. </p><p>"Not in front of me," Venomous hissed. "That's how you treat heroes. Not your minions."</p><p>For a few seconds, the man said nothing, but bit his lip, which had begun to tremble. He exhaled, apparently collecting himself, and then fell down on the grass in front of Venomous, face-first, and began to sob.</p><p>"I'm so stressed!" he said, voice muffled, face buried in his arms. "I'm trying so hard to get work done a-and they're building a bodega -- making a whole plaza across from Boxmore--"</p><p>Venomous had no idea what he was talking about, but he seemed genuinely distressed. He grappled with the awkwardness of the situation for a moment and steeled himself to offer a set of "that's rough" platitudes. But the man lifted onto his forearms and looked up at Venomous, teary-eyed. </p><p>"And POINT makes things so much worse!" he finished. Venomous felt a hot wave of ... something wash over him at the mention of POINT. </p><p>The man noticed the shift in Venomous' look, despite his best efforts to conceal it. </p><p>"I can see you know what I'm talking about!" he sniffed. He looked down, shaking his head. "I get so heated, say things I shouldn’t. I would never incinerate my children--"</p><p>"You did that to Darrell one time, though," said the girl robot, cautiously bold.</p><p>"Shut up, Daddy is making connections," the man hissed. He looked back up and took the hand Venomous extended, allowing himself to be helped up. </p><p>"I'm Venomous. Professor Venomous."</p><p>"Lad ... er, Lord Boxman." Now that he was on the receiving end of sympathy, the so-called Lord Boxman seemed a bit sheepish.  Was he blushing?</p><p>“I know how hard it is to be a single villain taking care of minions," said Venomous. "And POINT is ... a thorn in my side as well." Putting it mildly.</p><p>"I'm sorry for all the trouble," said Boxman, sounding sincere. He started ringing his hands.</p><p>"No problem," said Venomous, who, despite circumstances, felt himself becoming a bit endeared and a little less full of pity. He heard Fink scoff as he reached into his back pocket for a business card.</p><p>"Mutual interests," he added, flicking the card down to Boxman. "Give me a call sometime. Maybe our minions can play together again." Fink began to wail on the back of his legs in protest. </p><p>"Thanks," said Boxman. He was blushing. Venomous tried not to laugh as Boxman went to place the card into a coat pocket he had evidently forgotten wasn't there, nearly dropped it, blushed harder, and put it in his back pocket. Very endearing.</p><p>"Just, one thing," said Venomous. "Try to treat your minions a little better. Having some fun is no reason to destroy them."</p><p>"You're right," said Boxman. He sighed. "I'll just throw Ernesto in the fire for letting them escape."</p><p>Venomous smiled and only hoped Ernesto was a robot too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Rainy Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unfinished fic about cancelled plans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Whaddaya mean we can’t go?!”</p><p>Professor Venomous gestured to the window, rain lashing the glass in a steady tattoo. A clap of thunder rattled the panes. </p><p>Fink crossed her arms, unimpressed at the display the weather was making. </p><p>“Fink,” Venomous began with concentrated patience. “I can’t control the weather. Yet.”</p><p>“Yet?” Ah, KO, whose little hero ears never failed to detect any hint of villainy.</p><p>“It was a joke.”</p><p>Before Venomous could further needle KO a little (by adding a comment like yes, it <em> was </em> a joke, but maybe <em> now </em> he might try it) Fink moved closer into a tantrum stance and growled. Venomous crossed his own arms. Fink took a deep breath, puffing her cheeks, and held it. Venomous waited. Let her try and play petty. Venomous was a master of petty. She was bringing a pool noodle to a sword fight.</p><p>She held out roughly forty seconds and switched tactics. Letting out her breath, she went straight for the emotional jugular.</p><p>“You promised!” she said, in a small, hurt voice. </p><p>Venomous <em> knew </em> that he had promised. And, <em> no </em> , he didn’t need to be reminded of it. <em> Yes, </em>the promise in question was made last week, but that was when the neutrally moral bonding activity of blowing up things in the Danger Zone looked like a sure bet. But that was last week — <em> today </em> was <em> Saturday, </em> and <em> today </em> it was <em> raining</em>. He explained this again to Fink (and KO, who was still trying diplomatically to not look disappointed.)</p><p>It wasn't as though he didn't understand her disappointment. Even though she wouldn't admit it, Venomous making time for KO on the weekends was a sore spot. Having an activity they could do together (especially one Fink chose) was the best compromise he could give. </p><p>“But boss!”</p><p>“And I’m not going to say this a third time.” Venomous sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “You’re just going to have to believe me or not.” </p><p>“What if I don't?”</p><p>“We’ll just have to find something else we can do together.”</p><p>
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</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Public School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unfinished fic about Fink enrolling in school.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh, what could've been had CN not banged the cancellation gavel.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The woman narrowed her eyes at Venomous. “Are you the child’s —” she glanced down her bifocals at the paperwork and mouthed <em> Fink? </em>with a mixture of confusion and disdain. She tried again. “Are you Fink’s father?”</p><p>Venomous tapped his long nails on the wood counter. He didn’t appreciate the condescending tone <em> or </em> the implied quotations around Fink’s name. Venomous had seen the children of heroes, villains and every sort of little science mistake in between named some truly egregious shit. </p><p>(Plus, <em> he </em> didn’t name her Fink — he found her name-included, so that woman was wasting her breath trying to make him feel weird.)</p><p>(Plus (<em> plus </em> ) Fink was a <em> fine name, </em> if you asked him.)</p><p>Venomous stewed in his offense, thinking of the best answer. He couldn’t ignore the waiting receptionist’s repeated throat-clearing, so, using his muscle memory to form what he hoped was a charming Laserblast smile, he said, “I’m her boss.” </p><p>“Meaning what?” </p><p>“Meaning he’s my boss!” Venomous oofed as Fink hoisted herself to his shoulders to gain shouting ground. She pointed a pink mitten at the receptionist. “Geez, lady! You heard him.”</p><p>“Well,” said the receptionist. “Let me try this: are you her legal guardian?”</p><p>“Uh,” Venomous replied.</p><p>“Yes or no, sir.”</p><p>“Hmmm.”  He wasn’t aware he needed a legal guardianship to enroll a child in public school. Or any legal thing at all. Didn’t the government want kids to go to school? What was the point of all this “are you legally the child’s father” stuff? </p><p>Venomous, to his credit, had only gone to private schools. The only admittance criteria for that was a bunch of his parents’ Technos and having the same last name as a hall or wing. (That last name, much like his first, would be his graveyard secret. Laserblast burned those bridges. Professor Venomous then burned Laserblast.)</p><p>“Does it matter?” </p><p>“You’re asking if legal guardianship of a child matters?” The receptionist leaned forward. “I’m actually… somewhat concerned now, sir. Where are her parents?”</p><p>“He found me in a sewer.”</p><p>“Don’t tell her that, Fink!”</p><p>“Well, you did!”</p><p>Venomous glanced at the woman, and gave her a “kids, right?” look. She refused to take it and instead asked another pertinent question.</p><p>“Right. Well, besides legal documentation — which we aren’t done with — we will need to see medical records, including the required shots and vaccines.”</p><p>“She’s had a rabies booster recently,” Venomous said, ticking the numbers down with a finger. “A shot for worms, too. I thought it was like chickenpox, you get worms and you’re immune—”</p><p>“I had to wear a cone,” said Fink.</p><p>“That’s right, you did. But no, she gets shots for worms regularly. Um, as for stuff like measles… I’m not sure if rats can get measles. Humans can.” Venomous scratched his chin, thinking aloud. “That might move into some genetic material territory that is, quite frankly, my wheelhouse as a bioengineer. But I don’t exactly want to make my minion a — pardon the phrase — lab rat to test out any theories on infectiousness and transmission.”</p><p>He realized the receptionist was gaping.</p><p>“Your <em> minion</em>?”</p><p>“Out of all that and your only takeaway is the word <em> minion</em>?” Venomous asked, a shade weary.</p><p>“I’m quite aware of villains and minions,” said the receptionist. </p><p>“Finally she gets it.”</p><p>Ignoring Fink, the woman continued. “I just find it hard to believe you haven’t had to provide any legal documentation for Fink here before today.”</p><p>“What makes you so certain I do anything legally?” </p><p>“Then why are you here trying to enroll her in public school through the proper channels?”</p><p>Venomous scoffed. “Believe me, if there were improper channels I would’ve never given it a second thought.”</p><p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Big Strong Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>From an OTP generator prompt, the details of which I cannot recall.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I usually would hire someone to put it together for me," Venomous pointed out.</p><p>Boxman had already begun a show of rolling up his sleeves. He knew precisely the effect that extremely indecent innocent gesture had on Venomous.</p><p>He relished it.</p><p>"Oh, you and your money," Boxman said, pausing for a pointed, sidelong look. </p><p>Venomous coughed, looking away. "I know it's just a chair, but I'm kind of a mess with non-organic things."</p><p>Honestly, when Venomous had asked Boxman to help him put together a chair he ordered, Boxman was skeptical. First, what kind of weird company made fancy, modern furniture in bespoke villain motifs and sent it assembly required? Second, what grown man of Venomous' age and intelligence couldn't put together a simple chair?</p><p>But something about Venomous (too perfect!) being doubtful about his ability to do something (not perfect after all!) and asking Boxman was, well, hot. Venomous knew putting things together was Boxman's <em>thing</em> but the project itself being so ridiculously simple made him also suspect a second, more subtle reason.</p><p>Boxman wasn't going to call explicit attention to it, of course. But there was also something equally hot and hilarious about Venomous wanting him to be the big, strong man putting together furniture. </p><p><em>Well, let PV think he's being subtle</em>, Boxman thought, grinning sharply. <em>Why waste the opportunity?</em></p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Good Time, Boxman-Style</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Little snippet set during Boxman Crashes.</p>
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    <p>Boxman lied back on the bed, and thought about <em> the look </em> again.</p><p>It was right after Professor Venomous and Fink had settled Boxman's status as a guest. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but from Fink's furious gestures she wasn't happy. Either he convinced her or she gave in, because Boxman heard, "...might be fun to have around" and felt a small, petty bit of triumph. Then, ignoring the wrathful glare of his minion, Professor Venomous looked over his shoulder and smiled at Boxman. Fink snarled, but Venomous paid her no attention. He stood up with an air of finality, dusted off his knees and gestured to the house. </p><p>"Come on, Boxman, I'll show you around."</p><p>The memory cut off from there, Venomous leading him through a cursory house tour en route to a guest room. It stopped and looped back to the smile, like a tape recorder.  Pause, rewind, smile, stand up, brush off his knees, a symbolic gesture, given the immaculate state of the floor. Pause, rewind, smile. </p><p>The floor wasn't the only immaculate thing. Venomous' entire lair was like the man himself- clean lines, modern, elegant. Cold. Boxman had only been here a few times before on business and his stay was never long. Something about a place that didn't look lived in was unwelcoming and he never felt Venomous was particularly enthused about his company. Venomous never did anything to make him feel that way -- he was still a bit professional, but friendly. They had a few fun dates, made a robot baby together. He just didn't feel like a good fit here, with this beautiful man, his beautiful life, the sleek, gleaming modernity of it all. </p><p>Boxman suddenly became very aware of the tattered shirt he was wearing, the beaten-up suitcase he brought. The last few weeks caught up with him in a crash, like a clap of thunder waking him from sleep. And here it was, the raw, awkward awareness laced with a lethal dose of self- pity. Why couldn't he just be content to lie here and think about Venomous' face? </p><p>And how had he ended up this way? <em> Found outside sleeping in a trash can? </em> He pushed his one human hand into his one human eye until he saw stars. Not just <em> anyone's </em> trash, <em> Professor's Venomous' </em>trash. Literally and metaphorically wallowing in his own complicated, bad feelings. He forced himself clumsily into Venomous' neat little life. <em> Now you've done it, Boxman. </em>Of course he felt pitiful. If anyone deserves pity, self or otherwise, it was him. <em> Look at him</em>.</p><p>Venomous, though, didn't look at him with pity. You'd expect that on a friend's face when they see you at your worst, but even when he'd discovered him in the trash can he wasn't pitying. Uncomfortable, maybe, confused.  </p><p>Then empathetic. <em> Understanding. </em>That look when he smiled at him, warm and gracious, something that made Boxman a little dizzy to think would be directed his way. No one smiled at him anymore unless the joke was on him. It was kind of pathetic to think something like a polite gesture could be taken as such a personal gift.  The patience as he clung to Venomous' chest and cried. Giving him a place to stay. A smile contrasted with the relative coldness of his surroundings, a little fire in ice. It was all kindness tempered in a cloak of measured, quiet cruelty. </p><p>Boxman took his hand away from his eye and stared at the white ceiling, grey in the low lamp light. No, not cruelty. He never considered this before, how Venomous hovered at all times a little above indifferent. His coolness wasn't strictly personal. A jaded man with moments of  ... Boxman hesitated to say <em>passion</em>, but that's what it was. </p><p>Venomous wasn't aloof. He was bored.</p><p>Boxman sat up in the guest bed and hunched his shoulders, thinking. This meant two things.</p><p>First thing: the moments of genuine warmth, the few times he'd really seen Venomous let loose, had been at his, Boxman's, instigation. <em> And it was from petty villainy. </em>There was something intoxicating about seeing a man so controlled and put together become undone by the sheer passion for doing others dirty. Venomous got a thrill from the rush of being evil. Of course Boxman had never seen him full-tilt angry or furious but there were the little hints, the wild look in his eyes when shooting at children with a pie cannon. Laughing at destruction.</p><p>The growl in his voice when he talked about danger. This was a man who needed mayhem.</p><p>Second thing: Boxman could give him that mayhem.</p><p>
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